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Final curtain for 'wayang potehi'? Maintaining a unique Chinese-Indonesian art form
As the last puppeteers of the wayang potehi traditional art form enter their twilight years, they worry that the younger generation won’t pick up the torch to carry on the uniquely East Java performing art.
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Cultural fusion: While 'wayang potehi' (glove puppetry) has its roots in Chinese tradition and folklore, it also combines elements of Indonesian culture. (JP/Ivan Darski)
S
ilence envelops Klenteng Hong Tiek Han, an old pagoda-style temple located on the border between the Arab town of Sunan Ampel and the Chinatown along Jl. Kya-Kya in Surabaya, East Java. The pervasive aroma of incense and gleaming giant candles greeted The Jakarta Post during a visit on Aug. 25, 2021. A sudden cacophony arises from seven traditional Chinese musical instruments, enlivening the atmosphere.
Sitting almost entirely hidden behind a bloodred wooden booth tinged with touches of gold, a wayang puppeteer began reciting a story. This is 61-year-old Sukarmujiono, or Ki Mujiono, who performed the story of Si Djin Koei that day. Mujiono wielded his glove puppets deftly to show how the folkloric general of the Tang dynasty bravely cut his enemy's throat to reclaim Tong Tiauw for its king, Le Si Bing.
"This is one of the audience's favorite stories. And [it’s] quite a legendary one at that,” said Mujiono.
“There are two mainstay stories, Sie Djin Koe and Kera Sakti (Journey to the West). Both are good stories with many useful pieces of life advice. Stories like these used to spark people's spirit and motivated them to participate in battle," he added.
Though he is Javanese with no Chinese roots, Mujiono has had a connection to wayang potehi since he was 12 years old. As a boy, Mujiono almost never missed attending a wayang potehi performance by local puppet masters. Eventually, Mujiono studied under puppet master Gan Cao Cao, who taught him to play the sanxian , a three-stringed Chinese lute, as well as the stories of wayang potehi.
Through his master, Mujiono also learned Hokkien, the language in which most wayang potehi stories are told. By his mid-teens, Mujiono had not only earned Gan’s trust to provide the musical accompaniment for his puppet shows, but had also become an apprentice puppeteer.
“There are fifteen stories in wayang potehi. Unlike other performing arts, the stories of wayang potehi should not vary or be updated, as [the puppet show] is still a ritual,” Mujiono said.
“If you narrated one story for three to four hours a day, one story would take around two to three months to finish. And as puppeteers, we must memorize [the stories] by heart. If you don't really love them, I think they would be difficult to memorize,” he said.
These days, Mujiono isn’t just a se hu (puppeteer): He also heads Hong Tiek Han Temple’s wayang potehi troupe, which he named Lima Merpati (five pigeons). The group’s members are longtime peers who have been with Mujiono for more than two decades, maintaining the assimilation of the Chinese and Javanese cultures.
When the pandemic swept across Indonesia in March 2020, Hong Tiek Han Temple had to close down in keeping with the restrictions on congregational worship. However, it continued the wayang potehi performances, even without an audience in attendance. Every day at 9 a.m., Mujiono and his fellow puppeteers raise the curtains on their puppet show.
In fact, the temple has shut down its wayang potehi performances only once since 1962, during the 1965 tragedy that broke out on Sept. 30, 1965, better known as “G30S”, and the anti-Chinese violence that followed.
Similar anti-Chinese violence erupted amid the sociopolitical crisis in 1998, but Mujiono declined to talk about what happened to him and the temple then. He just shook his head and said, “No, I'd better not tell.”
“[Wayang] Potehi is a rite, not just entertainment. Even though the temple was closed and no one was there, we kept [on performing] and we will always be performing. We don't always perform for humans. We also perform for the gods,” he said.
Born behind bars
According to Wayang Topeng: Tradisi Menjadi Seni (Mask Wayang: Tradition becomes art; 2017, Tempo Inti Media) by Andry et. al., the traditional performing art was born behind bars in Fujian in southeastern China, home to the Hokkien dialect.
The puppet was allegedly created by a death row inmate from scraps of leftover clothing while waiting for the day of his execution. To ward off his anxiety and uneasiness, he filled his tense days by telling other inmates the stories of his ancestral heritage.
He cheered up his fellow inmates by performing in his cell, accompanied by four other inmates who used impromptu instruments to provide the “music”. One banged on a pot while the others rattled the bars, plates and any utensils they had to bring the story to life.
Because it was so boisterous, the prison guards and other inmates also watched the show behind bars. Eventually, the emperor heard about the puppet show and asked the group to perform it for the people.
“Even the emperor was impressed with their performance. And in short, the five convicts were released and were not executed,” recounted Mujiono. “The story circulated among the wayang potehi enthusiasts. This is what brought the traditional art to distant lands, including Indonesia, through the [Chinese] ancestors who emigrated for trade.”
Counting the days
Besides Mujiono, the other master at Hong Tiek Han Temple is Supardi. The two of them are not far apart in age, with Supardi just four years older.
At 65, Supardi no longer has the energy to perform regularly. He performs as a musician from time to time, especially considering that he no longer has the time to be present at the temple. Supardi lives in Lamongan, located more than 50 kilometers from Surabaya, and he has to travel around two hours to arrive at the temple.
“Besides, I am a Muslim and I am afraid that if I continue this art, I might be considered a heretic, since [wayang potehi] deals with polytheism. It might be a hassle to be held accountable up there,” he said, pointing to the sky.
Supardi, like Mujiono, was taken under the wings of Gan, a missionary who had left Fujian and arrived in Surabaya, where his journey ended and he founded Hong Tiek Han Temple in 1962.
Supardi and Mujiono agree that the fate of wayang potehi isn’t looking great, especially considering their age and the lack of enthusiasm among the younger generation in becoming their successors.
The world was too sophisticated and fast moving, and had left them behind, they said, pointing to the internet.
“I used to try and persuade my son. He was interested at first, but as he grew up, his interest faded. He chose his own path and I, as a parent, did not want to force him. Let young people determine their own destiny,” said Mujiono.
He then gazed at the ceiling of the temple, which appeared to have yellowed with time, and mused that in this world, everything crumbles eventually and almost nothing lasts forever. We are all merely waiting in line for our turn.
When the time comes, artists and others like Mujiono and Supardi who have tried to hold onto traditions that others have forgotten will go down in posterity. They will be remembered for their stoicism, trying desperately to preserve their ancestors’ heritage.
“As long as I am blessed with health and energy, I will make sure that wayang potehi still carries on. I don't know how long this will last. As unlikely as this possibility may be, I still pray that in the future, there will be young people who are interested in continuing wayang potehi. I believe that,” Mujiono said.
